Fleeting Moments
by Cortexikid
Summary: He stood there, rooted to the spot in his more-than-just-a-friend's kitchen, finding himself recalling all the fleeting moments with this "friend" that led him up to this exact point. Post-finale, Peter/Olivia.


**Fleeting Moments**

**By Cortexikid**

**A/N: This is a companion piece to my other fic "Pain, Fear, Love", while I don't think it is necessary to read that I would greatly appreciate it if you did =]**

**Disclaimer: Fringe belongs to a list of creative geniuses, I am not included in that list. Unfortunately.**

He heard them talking, on the third day of the second week. Nothing much, just a snippet, a tease of broken words and yet, that's all he needed.

His suspicions were tangled in minute moments these last few days, bewilderment and pure discontent mingled in his blood as he fought his lingering doubts.

There were clues of course, little…alterations here and there. The walk, the smile, the eyes, all jovial, with an almost cat-like seductiveness, a creeping notion of a certain ease and swaggering confidence that he would never have seen in any of those parts of her before.

He cursed himself then, with a sudden fury that ignited in his chest with a low hum of burning, like a severe case of bitter disappointment in himself. As if that feelings of disappointment, grief and guilt weren't enough but the scolding, the agonizing inner screech of "how could you not know!" that is what clutched at his heart in that very moment as he stood in Olivia Dunham's kitchen.

Except, now of course, she was not Olivia Dunham at all. At least, not the right one.

She was an impostor.

Ella helped him release that.

"Aunt Liv, when are you changing your hair back?" the cute and inquisitive seven-year-old asked.

"Why, don't you like it?"

He couldn't help but remember telling her that he preferred her hair. He shivered at his downright lie.

"Well, yeah but…I like your blonde hair better, it's pretty, like the sun."

If it were not for the present circumstances he would have smiled at the girl's compliment.

"Well, Ella, I like it this way, it's a new look for me, not at all boring. I think it's a nice change."

Peter shook his head as the words reached his ears. Every waking moment he spent with this woman over the last few days sprang back into his mind's eye. He had had his glaring suspicions but this, the way she defended such a trivial (to his Olivia anyway) thing as a hairstyle so vehemently to a child that supposedly meant the world to her, well, that was just one little thing too many. That's not even mentioning the fact that is would be highly doubtful for his Olivia to ever want to keep a hairstyle that would remind her of her alter self and everything that transpired over there.

He could not make excuses anymore.

Why she was so distant with everyone.

Why she more secretive than usual.

Why she barely spoke to the rest of the team unless absolutely necessary.

Why she seemed so forcefully flirtatious with him and yet when he tried to talk about what happened over there she either became introvert or looked (for a fraction of a second) slightly puzzled.

To name but a few.

These were all signs, he knows that now. But they were signs that his heart (in an odd moment of dominancy had power over his usually calculating brain) refused to acknowledge until it was forced upon him in a seemingly innocent conversation between aunt and niece.

It seems rather ridiculous now. Coming to such a profound conclusion over such a fleeting moment, but isn't that all that life was made up? Fleeting moments? Even as he stood there, rooted to the spot - ear wigging in his more-than-just-a-friend's kitchen, thinking desperately of what his plan of action should be, he found himself recalling all the fleeting moments with this "friend" that led him up to this exact point.

Iraq.

Desperation and bluffs.

Smiles and piano playing.

Bald men and confusion.

Identity cards and signed contracts.

Alcohol and card tricks.

Weird connections and 'I care about yous'.

Tanks and 'you're gonna be fines.'

Apologies and impossible bombs.

Facing certain death and sudden relief.

Bad dreams and clutching hugs.

Roads less taken and bad jokes.

Car crashes and heart felt, interrupted goodbyes.

Greek and 'it's good to see yous'.

Grief and late night talks.

Viruses and panic.

Near kisses and fear.

Secrets and lies.

Betrayal and fleeing.

Searching and disappointment.

A terrible plan with no other options.

Infiltration and gunfire.

Over there.

Something that was never just an assignment.

Reunions and rejoicing.

Kisses and hearts soaring.

Leaving and returning.

Over here.

All of them, individually flickered across his mind like a taunting movie reel, displaying a few of the many moments that had transpired between him and a certain FBI Agent.

But not the FBI Agent that was now standing in front of him.

"Alright, Peter, ready to go?"

His eyes snapped to attention as the familiar yet foreign voice called out to him. He looked up to see her staring at him, with those eyes that were the same yet not - too mischievous, too coy…even if she did manage to hide most of it.

He always prided himself in being good at reading people. It was certainly paying off now.

"Uh yeah, 'Livia, whenever you're ready." The words were out of his mouth without conscious discussion. His mind was at a stand-still, numb with the bursting epiphany yet hindered in frustration as he fought to think rationally and devise some sort of plan.

"Well, I'm ready now," she grinned, reaching up and tucking her hair underneath her jacket only to catch herself and craftily flick it over her shoulder.

Just one more slip up to take note of.

"Uh, okay, then, let's go," he replied, forcing a smile before stepping aside to let her pass. He chanced a look at Ella, who was watching the two silently, looking as if she wanted to say something. Peter could hear Rachel pottering around in the kitchen, obviously trying to stay out of the way as they left, he still felt her eyes on them as he opened the door though.

"Bye Rachel, bye Ella," the faux Olivia called almost as an afterthought over her shoulder.

Peter kept his head lowered, mumbling a soft goodbye before following her out, his mind ever racing, trying desperately not to think of what possibly could be happening to the real Olivia, his Olivia, as he prepared to go out on what should have been their first date.

Those thoughts had to be kept at bay for the moment, if he was going to think clearly about what he was going to do next.

He had thought of a plan. In that fleeting moment.

And now, it was time to put it into action.

He just hoped he wasn't too late.

**A/N: Okay, so I'm not a big fan of this one - I don't actually see this happening in the show but I just thought I'd give the 'Peter finds out' thing a go and see how it went. So there ya go. **

**Reviews are appreciated =]**


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